


On Demons and Hellhounds

by cyankelpie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And reflects on his life, Crowley pets a dog, Dog doesn't reflect on anything because he is a dog, Domestic Fluff, Jasmine Cottage, M/M, Name Changes, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: “I’m not rubbing your belly,” said Crowley. Dog blinked at him sadly and gave a little whine. “I’m not! Look at you. You’re supposed to be a terrifying creature of hell, and now you’re out here begging for affection.” Dog cocked his head at Crowley, who glanced back at the cottage. “Hey, no that’s different,” he said, mildly offended at what he imagined the dog had implied. “I just accidentally fell in love, that’s all. You were here for, like, five minutes. What’s your excuse?”(Crowley becomes more acquainted with Dog, and finds out they have more in common than he expected.)





	On Demons and Hellhounds

**Author's Note:**

> Just some Crowley interacting with Dog. That's it. That's the whole plot.

Crowley sat down on the bench behind Jasmine cottage, although sitting was never the right word for whatever it was that he did, and watched the sunset. That was one of the many things he had rarely taken the time to do before the failed apocalypse. He also hadn’t spent much time out in little villages like Tadfield, preferring the constant activity of the city, but he’d felt himself drawn to quieter things recently. A picnic on a green hillside, for instance, or feeding ducks in the park, or driving out to nowhere in the middle of the night to stargaze on the roof of the Bentley. Or, right now, watching the sun paint the clouds in vivid neons as it went down.

Aziraphale, the Them, and Anathema and Newt were in the cottage enjoying some of Newt’s homemade shortbread with tea and lemonade (not both together, of course, unless you counted Crowley mixing them to get a reaction out of Aziraphale). Crowley had been with them until a few minutes ago, when Anathema made the mistake of asking how he and Aziraphale had met, and Aziraphale had starting from the very beginning. When his best efforts to shush the angel proved futile, Crowley had decided he didn’t want to be there and slipped out while the rest of them were distracted. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the horseshoe above Anathema’s doorway, got a nasty sting as he crossed the threshold, and was reluctant to try going back anytime soon. He didn’t mind staying here a while, though. It was necessary to pace yourself at parties, anyway, even if it was just shortbread and tea. All that talking could get a little exhausting. He could spent hours in conversation with Aziraphale, sure, but that was an exception.

Something itched at the back of his mind, a little snatch of demonic energy much too small to be from an actual demon, but that was to be expected with a witch and the antichrist in the cottage behind him. Well, former antichrist. It was probably just Anathema, then. The energy felt a little more hellish than he would expect from a human witch, but maybe Anathema was witchier than he gave her credit for. All that really mattered was that it wasn’t nearly strong enough to be Hastur or Beelzebub, which meant he and Aziraphale were still safe.

The bushes rustled and he tensed a little, but a moment later Adam’s scruffy little black-and-white dog bounded through. “Oh, hey,” said Crowley, relaxing. “Dog, right? I mean, your name, not what you are. Both.” Bit unimaginative name, if you asked him. Not that anyone would dare call Adam unimaginative.

The dog stood in front of Crowley and wagged his tail. His paws were so muddy that he might have been wearing brown socks. “That answers the question of why you’ve been exiled outside, I guess,” said Crowley. “Want some help with that?”

He snapped his fingers, and a bucketful of water materialized out of nowhere and splashed down onto Dog. The mud vanished, though that took a separate miracle. Crowley grinned mischievously, until Dog shook himself out and sprayed Crowley with water. He sputtered and threw up his arms to shield himself. “Fair enough, I guess,” he said, peering between his arms when it was over.

Looking put out after the surprise bath, Dog walked a few feet away from Crowley and curled up on the grass. Crowley took off his glasses to wipe them dry and paused. “Hang on. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the dog my side sent.”

At the sound of his name, Dog raised his head to look at Crowley. It would certainly explain the demonic energy buzzing at the back of his skull, but the fact that this tame little creature used to be a fearsome hellhound was a lot to take in. He had seen hellhounds before, and they tended to be covered in blood rather than mud, and do a lot worse than shake water at you when they were upset. “What happened to you?” He asked, and then realized the answer himself. “Oh, it was the name, wasn’t it? _Dog. _Well, I can’t really call it a stupid name now, can I?”

Dog looked confused and a little unsettled, like he knew Crowley was talking about him even if he couldn’t understand the words. He got up, walked a few more steps to Crowley, and sat down again, apparently already over the whole thing with the water. He looked up at Crowley with big, expectant eyes.

“I’m not rubbing your belly,” said Crowley. Dog blinked at him sadly and gave a little whine. “I’m _not_. Look at you. You’re supposed to be a terrifying creature of hell, and now you’re out here begging for affection.”

Dog cocked his head at Crowley, who glanced back at the cottage. “Hey, no that’s different,” he said, mildly offended at what he imagined the dog had implied. “I just accidentally fell in love, that’s all. You were here for, like, five minutes. What’s your excuse?”

Dog gave up on coercing Crowley into petting him and plopped down in the grass again, burying his nose in a cluster of dandelions. “Oh yeah, the name,” Crowley muttered. “Y’know, I used to have another name. I’m on my third, actually.” He straightened. “Hang on, is _that _why we all changed our names after the fall?”

Maybe it wasn’t completely accurate to say that Crowley had changed his name. He certainly hadn’t picked it himself. Everyone else was there writhing half-transfigured on the ground, and when Crowley had regained his senses he’d looked around and said, _Hang on, where’d all my limbs go?_ and then a fish-demon flopping around next to him said, _At least you’re not all floppy like I am, _and he said, _Yeah, but I’m all, I dunno, crawly, which isn’t much better, _and Beelzebub happened to overhear and put him down as “Crawly” in the role call. He only put up with it for so long because a) it took him a while to think of a better one, and b) like everything else in hell, officially changing your name was a bureaucratic nightmare.

Dog got up, circled around to Crowley’s other side, and set his head on Crowley’s knee, still looking up at him with those sad, pleading eyes. “Hey! Ever heard of boundaries? Down, Dog.” He jostled his knee, to no avail. “I said _down_.” Crowley folded his arms, annoyed. “Thought Adam said he had you trained. You only listen to him, is that it? You take orders from no one except the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this world, and Lord of Darkness?”

Dog whined again and wagged his tail. Relenting, Crowley reached down at scratched Dog behind the ears. “Yeah, that’s fair, actually. I wouldn’t listen to me, either.”

It was weird, Crowley thought, that Dog had changed to fit the very first name he had been given. Crowley’s first name was the one She had given him upon his creation, and, well, look how that had turned out. She had always been a bit fussy about names, assigning them to all the newly-created angels, changing the humans’ if she chose them for some specific role. The Christ had his name hand-picked for him, while the Antichrist had just been dumped on Earth without one. And look how _that _had turned out. Maybe with a name like Adam, he was destined to grow up “human incarnate,” as Aziraphale put it.

“You recognized him before any of us, didn’t you?” he said to Dog, still scratching his head. “Could’ve said something_. _You didn’t even show up to Warlock’s party, and we were there waiting for you. Rude.”

Dog pressed his nose into Crowley’s hand and sniffed. He drew his head back and looked up at Crowley, puzzled. “What, do I smell like home?” said Crowley sarcastically. “Or, er…” He trailed off. Hell wasn’t home anymore, not for either of them. It hadn’t been his for a long time.

He reached out to pet Dog’s back, and Dog happily moved so Crowley could reach him easier. “Names are a load of bollocks, you know,” he decided. “I mean, look at me. They give you a name, but you don’t have to go along with it.” He looked down. “D’you like ‘Dog’? I mean, do you like all this…” he gestured first at Dog, then at the garden around them. “Or would you rather’ve been something like Throatripper?”

Dog was wagging his tail, happy to be petted and completely oblivious to Crowley’s words. Crowley let out a sigh and nodded. “Yeah, me too. ‘S nicer here than hell, isn’t it? Especially when it’s not destroyed. And those clever, clever humans,” he added, with a smile. “Dogs are their fault, you know. She made big, scary wolves, and someone looked at one and thought, ‘I bet that would make a good friend.’” Dog lay down and rolled onto his back, tucking his paws up in a way that even Crowley had to admit was adorable. “Manipulative bastard,” he muttered, reaching down to rub Dog’s pink tummy.

The door opened behind him, and he raised his head. Aziraphale looked around, saw him, and stepped outside. “Are you alright out here, Crowley? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Crowley waved at the sky, which had darkened into indigoes and purples. “Just watching the sunset.”

“Oh, have you made a friend?” said Aziraphale, smiling and kneeling down to tickle Dog. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” he cooed. “Who’s a good boy? Is it you?”

“Stop, angel, please,” Crowley groaned. “Let him keep some dignity.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind.”

Crowley looked down at Dog, who looked as smug as a dog could possibly look. “Hmf,” he muttered. “Have you finished your story already?”

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale. “I did get through the first one-third, but I thought that was a good place for a pause.”

“One third?” Crowley frowned. “Time-wise? We only met twice in the first two thousand years.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale’s eyes flitted around. “Perhaps I got carried away. Look, I know you don’t like hearing me talk about you—”

“That’s your fault,” said Crowley. “You call me things like ‘nice.’”

“—But won’t you come back inside?” he finished. “Apparently, Anathema had a pound cake in the refrigerator the entire time, and there’s been talk of strawberries.”

Crowley pretended to think about it. “Only if you keep the compliments to a minimum.”

“I promise nothing of the sort.”

Groaning weakly in protest, Crowley picked himself up off the bench. “Fine, but if you start telling them our entire life’s story again, I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave. You drove me here.”

“You can catch a bus or something.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fine,” he said, sighing to suggest it had been a much more difficult argument. “I’ll stay long enough to take you home.” He paused in front of the door, grimacing up at the horseshoe above it. “Angel, could I, er…”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale held out his hand, and Crowley took it. Another sting, like an electric shock, shot through him as he crossed the threshold, but holding the angel’s hand dulled it a little. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Dog scampered in at his heels before he could close the door. “Oi!” he cried, “Not fair, I was distracted.”

Inside, Dog ran around the table, sniffing the children’s feet. “Dog, I told you, you’re too dirty to be inside,” said Adam, getting up from his chair to try to control the little ball of fluff and excitement. “You’ll track mud all over Anathema’s…Wait, you’re clean. How’d you get so clean?”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who shrugged. With a knowing smile, Aziraphale gave his hand a little squeeze.

“Anathema, can he stay inside now?” asked Wensleydale. “He’s not muddy anymore, actually.”

Anathema stepped over to inspect Dog. “Alright. But not on the furniture.”

“Oh, we never let him on the furniture at home,” said Adam. “Don’t worry, he’ll stay off if I tell him to.”

Crowley and Aziraphale sat down, still holding hands, as Newt brought out the pound cake and strawberries. Something bumped Crowley’s leg, but it was only Dog’s nose. “No, over _here, _Dog,” said Pepper, annoyed. “I was trying to pet you.”

Dog sniffed his knee and gave him that confused look again, like he wasn’t sure what to make of him. Maybe he did still smell like hell. Crowley wondered, vaguely, if he reminded Dog just a little of his demonic handlers in his previous life. He hoped not.

Dog looked up at Crowley, wagged his tail, and gave a happy little yap. “That means he likes you, Mr. Crowley,” said Adam, grinning. “If he’s bothering you, though, I can make him leave you alone.”

“Nn—That’s alright.” Crowley reached down to scratch dog behind the ears. _You get it, don’t you? You’re a bit like me._ “I guess I can put up with him.”


End file.
